Calling the Shots
by Kathy Rose
Summary: Hoshi and the guys have to impersonate gangsters to complete a mission.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to someone else, etc., etc., etc. I'm not making any money, I'm just having fun with the characters. Wish I'd thought of them first.

Author's Notes: This story was written a long time ago but never posted here. Inspired by TOS' "A Piece of the Action" as well as the TNG episodes with Captain Picard as Dixon Hill. Besides, I think Hoshi would make one heck of a gangster's moll. Thank you, Ozchick, for betaing. Mild spoilers: Seasons One & Two.

* * *

Hoshi adjusted the slinky red dress where it hugged her hips. She stepped into the high heels, then draped the red shawl around her shoulders. The shawl didn't really cover anything, she noticed as she looked in the mirror. The lacy fabric served only to give a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage and shoulders. 

What she had done with her hair, though, really changed her appearance. She certainly wasn't used to seeing it hanging in heavy, curly masses.

Too bad it was all for a mission on the planet below them. At least she'd have the satisfaction of seeing how her fellow officers reacted to the way she was dressed. Sometimes, wearing the same old uniform day in and day out, she thought they probably forgot she was a woman.

She picked up her small clutch purse and checked herself one more time in the mirror, then headed out of her cabin to the launch bay.

A crewman's wolf whistle echoing down the corridor announced her arrival as she opened the launch bay door, and she suppressed a grin. Putting a bored pout on her face and a seductive sway in her walk, she strutted into the bay and got the reaction she was hoping for.

All three men stopped what they were doing and stared at her. Jon's eyes bulged, Trip swallowed convulsively, and Malcolm seemed to be having a revelation, his astonished expression changing to a dazed smile. There was a stretched-out moment as she walked toward them, the only sound the tapping of her heels on the deck.

As she reached them, Travis stuck his head out of the shuttlepod. Looking her up and down, he said, "Boy, Hoshi. You clean up nice."

"Thank you, Travis," she said demurely. She gave him a disarming smile and reached to take his offered hand. Before she stepped into the shuttlepod, however, she looked at her stunned superiors, who were dressed in wide-lapeled suits and narrow-rimmed hats. "You all clean up well, too."

They stared after her as she entered the shuttlepod. Jon was the first to recover, and stated the obvious. "We look good, but not as good as she does." And with that, he turned and followed Hoshi.

Trip and Malcolm scrambled in after him, Trip managing to claim the seat closest to Hoshi. "Wow, Hoshi. You look... Uh, don't you think it's a little much?"

"Much of what?" she asked innocently.

"Actually, it's not so much 'much' as it is..." he paused to gulp, "...not much."

She looked down, held the shawl away from her chest, and said, "Gee, I could have sworn there were sleeves when I put this on."

"Not to mention a front," murmured Malcolm, who had turned around in his seat and was looking fixedly at her decolletage.

She threw him a sultry look and wrapped the shawl back over her chest. "Just getting into character," she said with a flutter of her eyelashes.

Jon, seated near the front where Travis was running down the launch checklist, broke into their conversation. "Everybody needs to get into character."

* * *

The planet was pre-space flight capable. When a one-man independent vessel from Earth crashed there, Enterprise was instructed to retrieve the pilot -- or his body, as the case may be. 

According to information provided by Admiral Forrest, Hadian culture had ingrained paranoid tendencies. If the Hadians discovered that the pilot, Williams, was an alien, they'd likely presume he was a precursor to an invasion, and that would damage any future relations between Earth and Hadia.

Hoshi had been able to put together a fairly comprehensive picture of the culture from Vulcan orbital surveillance data and the planet's audio and video communications. The closest thing she could compare it to was Chicago in the 1930s when gangsters ran shadowy but powerful organizations. There was a global government on Hadia, but it was ineffectual, and gangster-like groups actually provided more order than the government did.

As the shuttlepod entered the planet's atmosphere, Hoshi tucked the PADD she had been using to review the Hadian information into her purse. She couldn't help but notice the delicate tracery of webs between her fingers. One of the few outward differences between humans and the inhabitants of the planet were the webs on their hands. The webs were vestigial, no more than a half inch long, connecting the bases of the fingers to each other and the thumb. Doctor Phlox had done an admirable job grafting the pseudo webs to the officers' hands.

The other important difference could be covered up as long as those on the mission kept their footwear on -- the real natives had six toes on each foot. The extra one was tiny, barely half the size of the next smallest toe.

Since Admiral Forrest had been adamant that they couldn't allow the Hadians to know they were offworlders, the slight alteration to the landing party's hands was necessary. The only one not altered to look like a Hadian was Travis, who would fly the shuttlepod back to Enterprise after dropping them off in a remote area.

* * *

"These shoes weren't made for walking," Hoshi complained as they trudged along a deserted country road. Bending over, she took off one shoe, then the other. 

Jon and Malcolm walked ahead, but Trip stopped while she removed her shoes. "It won't be much longer, Hoshi," he said. "Surely there'll be a car or somethin' along soon and we can hitch a ride."

"This has got to be the weakest part of the plan," she said, taking his arm as, barefoot, she resumed walking.

"You know we couldn't take a chance on being seen landing."

"I know, but the way my feet feel, the transporter is beginning to look good."

Trip gave her an amused glance. "After what happened that one time you used the transporter and you thought Enterprise was being sabotaged by aliens?"

"Well, maybe not, but my feet think otherwise."

Hoshi heard the sound of an engine in the distance and saw Jon and Malcolm slow down. She and Trip caught up with them just as a rattling old vehicle crested the hill in front of them, heading down the road in their direction.

Waving his hands, Jon stepped out onto the road, but the vehicle didn't slow down. It veered to miss Jon and sped on its way, smoke belching out the rear.

"That wasn't very neighborly," Trip remarked, taking off his hat and wiping his brow.

"Maybe the next one will stop," Jon said.

The group resumed its march toward the town they had targeted as the best place to begin their search for the missing pilot. Scans from orbit had shown a faint trace of antimatter in the vicinity. Since the Hadians didn't have antimatter, the only conclusion was that Williams' ship had come down somewhere in the area.

They walked for another twenty minutes before Hoshi, who was plodding along at the rear of the group, heard the sound of a motor behind them. Her feet hurt so badly she considered lying down on the pavement as an improvised roadblock to stop the vehicle. But then she had another idea.

"All of you get over there in the bushes where you can't be seen," she said. As the men stared at her, she added hurriedly, "I can hear another vehicle coming. Get behind those bushes until I tell you to come out."

Jon started to smile. "Come on, men. I think what Hoshi's planning might work."

After scurrying behind the shrubbery and ducking down, Jon, Trip, and Malcolm peered out from behind the leaves. They watched as Hoshi hiked her skirt up a bit and let the shawl trail down her back over one shoulder. Malcolm growled as he realized what she intended to do, and Jon put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder to keep him in place.

As the vehicle came into sight, Hoshi turned to face it, standing in a seductive pose at the edge of the road. Thrusting one hip out, she rested her hand holding the clutch purse on it. From the other hand she dangled her shoes.

The vehicle, which resembled an old roadster, slowed as it approached her. Hoshi smiled when she saw the lone occupant was male.

The vehicle pulled over to the side of the road, coming to a stop next to her. "Hi," she said as the man lowered the window.

"Hi. What's a pretty thing like you doing out here?"

"I need a ride into town."

Some things were a universal constant, she thought as he gave her the once over. When he didn't say anything but instead stared at her feet, she looked down. Damn!

"Ah..." she started, trying to come up with a reason why she was short a digit on each foot.

The man's gaze returned to her face, and he wore a speculative look. "You've had that surgery done, haven't you?"

"Ah, well, yes, I have," she said, hoping surgery explained her missing toes.

"I've heard about you women."

Hoshi didn't mistake what kind of women he was talking about. Prostitution was an accepted occupation on the planet, and during her research she had found out that sometimes the women would alter their bodies to make themselves more attractive. She hadn't known, however, that the removal of the smallest toe was considered titillating.

Emboldened by his reaction, she gave him a sexy smile, leaned against the vehicle, and tossed her head, causing her curls to flounce around her face. "You give me a ride into town, I might even tell you what else I had surgery on."

Grinning, he opened his door and hopped out. He motioned for her to get in.

"There's one thing I need to tell you first," she said, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. She hadn't realized until he stood that he was almost as tall as the captain. She wouldn't be able to block his view, so she took his arm and turned him away from where the others were hiding.

"What's that?"

"I have some friends who also need a ride."

At the sound of footsteps, the man turned back around. All the blood drained from his face as he took in their appearance. "Oh, no! I'm not getting involved with you!"

Hoshi maintained her grip on his arm, although he wasn't struggling. "All we want is a ride," she said.

"This is Poltorn's territory, and you don't work for him. I know what all his hoods look like, and you ain't them."

Jon muttered under his breath. The team had gone over the politics of the area as part of their preparation for the mission, and Poltorn was the minor gang boss who ran this area. If anyone knew anything about the missing pilot, it would be the local gang boss. Jon gestured for Hoshi to say something.

"We want to meet Poltorn," she said. "My boss has a proposal for him."

"Why doesn't he say so himself?" the man asked, looking at Jon suspiciously.

"He has a...speech impediment. He gets very mad when anyone makes a big deal about it."

"You his mouthpiece?"

"You could say that," Hoshi said with a genuine smile this time, thinking about her efforts -- which turned out to be futile -- to teach Jon, Trip, and Malcolm the Hadian language.

When Hoshi's smile wasn't enough to convince the man to allow them into the vehicle, Malcolm reached into one of the outer pockets of his suit jacket as if to retrieve a weapon.

"All right!" the man gave in. "Get in."


	2. Chapter 2

Hoshi sat in the back seat with Jon and Trip while Malcolm rode up front with the driver on the way to town. The man they had coerced into driving them refused to tell his name.

"No way," he said when she asked. "The last thing I need is for Poltorn to find out who helped you. You don't sound like you're from around here, and for all I know, you could be trying to move in on his territory."

Hoshi settled back on the long bench seat, irritated that her accent wasn't perfect. Clearly there were variations in how the langauge was spoken in different places on this world, just as those who spoke English on Earth had different accents. It was bad luck that their mission was in a region where the accent varied from what she had learned.

The Hadian kept glancing over his shoulder at her. At one point when his attention was on the road, she whispered to Jon, "We ought to make this look convincing," and put Jon's hand on her knee.

Jon gave her a look that was half apologetic and half playful, and removed his hand from her knee. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her closer with a jerk.

At Hoshi's soft grunt of surprise, Trip, seated on Jon's other side, looked over. He raised an eyebrow, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Hoshi cut him off with a shake of her head. If he started talking, the driver would know for sure they were phonies. Of the three men, Trip had the worst Hadian accent due to his Southern drawl. Not that Trip knew much of the language, but he had learned some common phrases.

Trip wasn't totally squelched. Leaning over, he whispered in Jon's ear, "Next time I want to be the boss."

* * *

They were dropped off in front of a nondescript building. A narrow three-story structure, it was hemmed in by a clothing store on one side and a pawn shop on the other. There was a small sign engraved with the words "The One Shot" in Hadian over the entrance. The One Shot had no windows, and there was only a small slide panel at eye level in the door. 

Hoshi turned back to the driver, who was visibly less nervous now that his unwanted passengers were out of the vehicle. "You're sure we'll find Poltorn here?" she asked.

"It's where he does business," the man said as he revved the engine. Before she could ask anything more, he put the vehicle in gear and sped off, squealing the tires in his haste to get away from them.

"You knock on the door," Jon told her, adjusting the hat on his head. "We'll be right behind you."

Gathering the shawl around her shoulders, she went to the door, raised her hand, and knocked. The group exchanged glances as they waited.

"Knock again," Jon said when, after a minute, there was no response.

As she raised her hand to comply, the panel slid open abruptly, startling her. A pair of bloodshot brown eyes glared out at her. "Yeah?"

"We would like to see Poltorn," she said.

"He ain't here. Come back later. Besides, we ain't open yet," he said, and closed the panel.

Before Jon could tell her to, Hoshi knocked again, this time with more force. The panel snapped open again.

"I told you to get lost!" the man barked.

"We can't. I mean, we just got into town. We'd rather wait inside, if that's all right."

"Why should I let you in?" he countered.

"My boss wants to make a deal with Poltorn. Can't we come in and wait?"

Hoshi batted her eyelashes at him as he considered. His eyes raked over her, shifted to look at the others, and came back to her.

"OK, but no funny stuff," he said.

The panel slammed shut again but Hoshi could hear the sound of locks being undone. The door opened and the man, wearing dark pants, a white shirt, and a long apron, stood to one side.

Malcolm was suddenly beside her, holding out his arm to prevent her from entering. He took a few cautious steps inside and looked around. Then he turned and gestured for the rest to enter.

Jon was next, followed by Hoshi and Trip. As her eyes adjusted to the low lighting, she could make out small round tables covered in white tablecloths and an impressive wooden bar running the length of the room. A small stage was at the rear. Except for some stylistic differences in the furnishings, the room could have been an upscale speakeasy in the United States on Earth, circa 1930. Her description of the planet as being right out of the gangster era was closer to the mark than she had realized.

The man moved off toward a door next to the stage.

Hoshi called after him. "When can we see Poltorn?"

"Later," he threw over his shoulder as he continued walking away.

"Looks like we'll have to wait," Jon said quietly, taking a seat at one of the tables after the man exited the room.

Hoshi sat down next to Jon and put her purse on the table. Trip pulled a chair over from another table to join them. Malcolm remained standing, his attention divided between the two doors.

"I don't like this," Malcolm said.

"I don't like it, either," Jon said, "but we've got to contact Poltorn. He's the most likely person to know if Williams has been found."

Trip leaned back, took off his hat, and loosened the neck of his shirt. "Least he coulda done was offer us some refreshment while we're waitin'," he said with a disgruntled scowl. "I'm pretty thirsty."

"Me, too," said Hoshi, looking up from massaging her tired feet to see Jon watching her.

"Better keep your shoes on," he said with a slight grin.

"Wouldn't it be in character for you to rub her feet?" Trip asked.

"You guys!" Hoshi put her shoes back on, stood, and walked around behind the bar. "If I'm going to be a gangster's moll, I'm pouring myself a drink. Want one, boss?"

"Hey, what about me?" Trip asked.

"You're the hired help. Get your own."

Trip got to his feet and joined her. Picking a bottle at random, he poured himself a stiff shot. Hoshi, meanwhile, put two glasses on the bar, splashed a little alcohol in each, and topped them off with water.

As she carried the drinks back to the table, Jon asked, "What kind of alcohol did you put in there?"

"I have no idea," she said as she sat down, "but the bottle had a pretty label."

She waited until Jon took a sip and, seeing no adverse reaction, cautiously tasted her drink. Not too bad, if you liked oily booze. Next time she'd get just water -- this wasn't going to quench her thirst. It was relaxing, however; she felt her tense muscles begin to loosen after only a few sips.

Malcolm came closer to the table. Keeping his voice low, he said, "If I were running a place like this, I'd have some kind of monitoring device. They're probably listening to everything we say." Glancing warily at the door by the stage, he added, "They'll know we're not talking in their language."

"Let's just hope they buy the 'speaking in a secret code' story," Jon said. "Remember -- if you or Trip have to talk to me, Hoshi, or each other, use English. Otherwise, don't say anything."

The stage door Malcolm was watching opened. The man who had let them into The One Shot came out, followed by a short, muscular individual.

The first man, who Hoshi decided was a bartender, went behind the bar and took in the slight disarray of the bottles. He looked over at them and, spying their drinks, said, "Hey! You're paying for that!"

Hoshi exchanged a glance with Trip and reached for her purse. Opening it, she dug around inside and came up with some Hadian paper money they had made -- counterfeited, if truth be told -- aboard Enterprise. T'Pol had assured them it would pass scrutiny, but Hoshi was still anxious about it. She handed a wad to Trip, who took it over to the bartender.

The man was taken aback by the amount of currency Trip pressed into his hand. "How much you plan on drinking?" he asked curiously.

Trip shrugged, returned to the table to put his hat back on, and then took up a position standing a short distance behind Jon.

The other man had stopped a few feet away, equidistant from the table and Malcolm. He deliberately looked at each of the men, dismissing Malcolm almost immediately to let his eyes slide over to Trip, then finally gazing with interest at Jon. "You the boss of this gang?" he asked.

Hoshi knew Jon probably didn't understand the actual words, so she gave Jon a barely perceptible nod, and he in turn gave the man an affirmative dip of his head.

"Who are you and what do you want with Poltorn?" the man asked.

Jon looked to Hoshi, who cleared her throat delicately. She stood up and faced the man, who only came up to her nose. Despite his lack of stature, he seemed sure of himself and not the least intimidated by the three strange men or the one strange woman looming over him. She understood the psychological advantage height could give a person in a confrontational situation, and it wasn't often she got to tower over someone. Unfortunately, this person didn't seem bothered by it.

"He's Jon," she said, assuming an air of confidence and looking down her nose at the man. He looked like a toad, she thought. "He has an offer for Poltorn."

The man shifted his gaze to her, pausing for a moment before lifting his eyes from her chest to her face. "And who are you, sweet thing?" he asked with a sneer.

"I'm his," she retorted, jerking her head toward Jon but giving him a coquettish smile, causing the man to smirk at her mixed message.

"How come you're doing all the talking?"

Hoshi released a theatrical sigh, as if having to explain something she'd explained many times before. "Jon has a speech impediment. He's rather...sensitive about it. So I speak for him. You direct your questions to him, not me, but I'll answer."

With a sense of relief, she walked away from the repulsive man. She moved with a seductive swagger to stand beside Jon, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Jon reached up, placed a hand over hers, and gave her a decidedly possessive look before turning his attention back to the Hadian.

Whoa! thought Hoshi as Jon looked away from her. He was certainly getting into his role. Those had been bedroom eyes if she had ever seen them.

Mentally shaking herself, she concentrated on the situation at hand. It wouldn't do to get distracted. She remembered Jon's advice not to seem too anxious to make a deal, so she let the silence stretch out as she waited for the Hadian to say something.

The man kept his own counsel for some time, staring at Jon. Finally, after flicking his eyes once at Trip and Malcolm, he came the rest of the way to the table and sat down across from Jon. Raising his hand, he snapped his fingers. The bartender came over, set a glass on the table, and poured a hefty portion of liquor into it. The short man reached out and took the bottle, placing it on the table, too.

As the bartender retreated, the man finally spoke. "You tell me what kind of deal you have in mind, and I'll tell Poltorn."

Hoshi and Jon had gone over as many scenarios for such a conversation as they could think of, but she knew he could understand only a few words of what the man was saying. It was up to her to decide which direction the conversation should take.

"First, he wants to know your name," she said.

"Galarn."

"He wants to know your exact position with Poltorn."

"Poltorn's my boss. I'm his right-hand man." Galarn paused to take a drink. After a long swallow, he looked at Hoshi and said, "I know everything Poltorn does. And I speak for him. Sort of like you do for...um...Jon, was that his name?"

"Don't look at me, look at Jon," she said harshly, and Malcolm backed her up, taking a step toward Galarn. She noticed Malcolm's action and was gratified. She knew he probably only had a vague idea of what was being said and was reacting instead to the tone of her voice.

Galarn frowned at Malcolm, then stared at Jon. "OK, if that's how you want to play it. What's your deal?"

Jon squeezed Hoshi's hand twice quickly, but not hard enough for anyone else to notice. It was one of the prearranged signals they had worked out. "We're interested in buying something Poltorn may have acquired."

"And what might that be?"

Hoshi glanced down at Jon, asking with her eyes for him to trust her. Focusing on Galarn once more, she said, "A man who has been more surgically altered than anyone has been before."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, folks. I would have responded personally but FFN wasn't the only one with a problem. Technology is wonderful -- when it works.

* * *

Hoshi felt Jon's hand tighten on hers where it rested on his shoulder. Her reply to Galarn wasn't one of the options in their anticipated scenarios, and Jon had learned enough Hadian in their hasty language lessons to be able to tell she was deviating from their plans. 

They had considered saying that Williams had double-crossed Jon's gang, and Jon wanted vengeance. They could say that Williams had stolen money from one of Jon's gang operations, or claim that Williams had killed one of Jon's men and Jon wanted to watch Williams die.

The problem was none of that explained Williams' human appearance. Originally they were going to tell Poltorn that Williams had been born that way, but it was a feeble explanation, requiring them to invent a background story for the pilot that, upon investigation, could be proven false.

Hoshi had had an inspiration, however, and instead of presenting an out-and-out lie, she decided to go with a half-truth. Trusting her instincts, she had used the apparent difference in the human pilot's appearance as the reason they wanted him.

She watched in satisfaction as the stonefaced Galarn reacted, his eyes widening at the mention of surgical alterations. He picked up his glass for another long swallow that finished off the contents.

After carefully putting the glass back down on the table, he asked, "How'd you know about that guy?"

"He's Jon's property," she said in a level voice.

"Property? You own him?"

"In a manner of speaking. He agreed to some new surgical techniques that Jon has the rights to."

Galarn's distrust was slowly changing to interest, and he eyed Jon speculatively. "These new techniques...they can remove finger webs and not leave scars?" he asked almost in wonder.

"Yes," Hoshi answered.

"Why'd he show up here, wandering around like he was lost, and talking out of his head?" Galarn asked.

"Apparently he didn't like the changes, and he ran before all the surgery was done." Pausing, she tried to come up with a reason for Williams speaking English. In an offhand manner, she added, "And he's probably speaking in the code we use."

As Galarn thought over what she'd said, Hoshi took a moment to look at Malcolm. She knew he couldn't follow the conversation, but he was playing the part of a thug perfectly. He stood lightly balanced on his feet, attentive to the goings-on, a slight sneer on his face. He even had his hand in his jacket pocket, where she knew he had a miniature phase pistol. For all Galarn knew, though, it was a weapon more common to his world.

A glance over her shoulder showed Trip standing as if he were carved out of stone, an impassive expression on his face and his arms crossed. He, too, was focused on the Hadian.

"How do I know what you're telling me is true?" Galarn asked suspiciously.

Hoshi went to sit in the chair next to the Hadian. Seductively she crossed her legs, leaning over to slowly remove the shoe from her foot. Galarn gasped when her bare toes were revealed -- five toes, not the six he normally would expect to see. Bending nearer, his mouth gaped as he inspected her foot as closely as he could without touching it.

"Well, that explains a lot of things," Galarn said, more to himself than the others. He gave her a lascivious smirk, then looked at Jon and said, "Poltorn will be very interested in meeting you. Come back tonight."

He pushed his chair back and rose.

As he started to leave, Hoshi called after him, a note of panic in her voice. "Wait!"

He turned around to look at her as she hastily put her shoe back on and stood. She told herself to calm down. Any show of weakness could damage their position. Taking a deep breath, she pouted. "We're not from around here. Is there any place we can get a room?"

"Try the next block over. There's a dive there," he said, then walked away without a backward glance, leaving through the door by the stage.

Mindful of the bartender still in the room, Hoshi didn't say anything to her companions. Instead she jerked her head toward the front door and led the group outside.

* * *

Other than to ask where they were going, Jon was quiet on the walk to the hotel. Hoshi could tell he was restraining himself, not wanting to talk in public but anxious to know exactly what had transpired at The One Shot. 

They found the hotel, and she paid for rooms. The disinterested desk clerk didn't react to one woman and three men checking in together, and went back to reading a magazine as soon as the transaction was complete.

In keeping with the shabby decor, stuck to the elevator door was a handwritten notice: Out of Order. They had to take the stairs to reach their rooms on the third floor.

It certainly was a dive, she thought as she glanced around the run-down room she was sharing with Jon. Malcolm and Trip had an adjoining room. After Malcolm had checked both rooms for surveillance devices, they gathered in Jon and Hoshi's room for a summary of the conversation with Galarn.

"I don't know much Hadian," Jon began as he took off his hat and put it on the rickety nightstand, "but you taught me enough to know that whatever it was you were talking about didn't involve any of the contingencies we planned for."

"And what was that bit with your foot?" Trip asked.

Hoshi ignored Trip. "I know it's rather unusual for me to go astray from set plans, but I had an idea," she said haltingly, the stress of the situation catching up with her.

"And?" Jon asked, coaxing her with an impatient gesture of his hand.

"Well, you know how Hadians are fascinated to the point of obsession with altering their bodies. I mean, look at how the man who drove us here acted when he saw I had only five toes instead of six on each foot."

Jon's nod encouraged her to continue.

"Until that happened, I hadn't realized that our information about their cosmetic surgery was incomplete. As far as I knew, the only alterations were to add features, such as a second navel. Apparently, they've now progressed to removing small parts of their bodies, such as one of their toes. Phlox did say the smallest toe, which we appear to be missing, is like the finger webs. At one time in the long distant past, Hadians probably needed them, but they don't any longer."

Sitting down on the room's only chair, Hoshi kicked off her shoes. Glancing down at her feet, she smiled. "Then it hit me. Go with the obvious. Tell them we want Williams because he_ is _different, but give them a reason for the difference. So I told Galarn that you have access to new surgical methods that account for the way Williams looks -- in essence, surgery without scars. He doesn't have finger webs, he doesn't have the sixth toe, and best of all, he has no scars to show where they were removed."

Trip chuckled. "Well, now I know why ya took your shoe off. You were tryin' to make Galarn believe you've had this surgery."

"How did you explain that Williams doesn't speak Hadian?" Jon asked.

"I didn't. Galarn said Williams was speaking in gibberish, so I told him that it was the special code our gang uses. I didn't attempt to explain why he hasn't said anything in Hadian since he didn't ask."

"That's probably for the best," Malcolm interjected from next to the window where he was watching the street below. "The less we have to fabricate, the harder it will be for us to get caught in a lie if this Poltorn or his associates get suspicious."

"I did understand that we're to meet Poltorn tonight," Jon said.

"Yes," Hoshi said, "although no time was specified."

The group lapsed into silence. As Hoshi massaged her tired feet, Trip dropped down on the bed, putting his back against the headboard and his feet on the threadbare spread. Malcolm continued to keep watch at the window as Jon paced back and forth a few times.

"I'm going to check in with T'Pol," Jon said, pulling his communicator out of his pants pocket. "Then we'll see about getting something to eat. It's going to be several hours before we go back to see Poltorn, and I want us all as rested and ready as possible."

* * *

Although they needed to maintain a low profile and keep their interactions with the Hadians to a minimum, someone had to go for food. Hoshi was the obvious choice since she was fluent in Hadian, but Jon was unwilling to let her go alone. 

"Take Malcolm with you," Jon said. "And try not to draw attention to yourselves."

Groaning at the prospect of more walking, Hoshi put her shoes back on.

When they were outside the hotel, Malcolm gestured to a building down the street. "I've seen a number of people go into that place and come out with what appeared to be packages of food," he said in a soft voice for her ears only.

Hoshi nodded and started off down the street, Malcolm a step behind her as befitted a hired gun. As they walked, she took note of the Hadians who were about. She caught a few of the Hadians giving them curious stares, but any people they neared quickly got out of their way.

She sighed. It must be the clothes. Compared to the Hadians she saw, she and Malcolm were overdressed. The only other Hadian she had seen dressed in tailored, expensive-looking clothing was Galarn. The style of her red dress and high heels and her fellow officers' neat suits were a dead giveaway that they were part of a gang.

In a way, that worked in their favor. No one tried to strike up a conversation or interfere with their stroll to the restaurant. Even at a newstand where they stopped to buy a newspaper, the clerk seemed uncomfortable in their presence. The Hadians' reluctance to approach them helped maintain their cover, but it was unsettling all the same. Hoshi wondered how many of the people she saw were on Poltorn's payroll.

Arriving at the restaurant, she read the sign in the window. "It does have take-out," she said to Malcolm.

He opened the door for her and followed her inside. There were patrons at a few of the tables, but none seemed particularly interested in her or Malcolm. At the back was a swing door to the kitchen, as well as an open pass-through window where waiters could pick up orders.

A woman was standing at a counter near the front door, so Hoshi went to ask her about the menu. After a brief conversation, the woman came out from behind the counter and went to the kitchen, and Hoshi rejoined Malcolm by the door.

"It'll be a few minutes before they can get our food ready," Hoshi whispered.

"We should sit down and try to be less conspicuous," he said just as softly, and indicated a table near the counter. He took a seat where he could keep an eye on both the front door and the interior of the restaurant. Hoshi sat to one side, careful not to block his view.

They hadn't been waiting very long when a waiter carrying a tall, frosted glass approached them. He set the drink on the table in front of Hoshi.

"I didn't order that," she said.

"It's from the gentleman in the back," the waiter said, then moved away.

Hoshi peered toward the rear of the restaurant. She saw Galarn standing in the kitchen doorway, and felt her stomach plummet. She turned to get Malcolm's attention but he was already aware of Galarn's presence.

"He just came in. He must have been in the kitchen and seen us through the pass-through," Malcolm murmured out the side of his mouth.

The enticing aromas in the restaurant had made her stomach rumble in anticipation of some nourishment, but now that she'd seen Galarn, her appetite vanished. Galarn had given her the creeps the first time they'd met, and she wasn't ready for another confrontation with the strange little man. The only thing that kept her from getting up and leaving was Malcolm's reassuring presence.

Trying to cover her nervousness, she picked up the drink. She took a small sip and was pleasantly surprised to find it was some sort of thin, flavorful juice. Rubbing the cool glass against her cheek, she favored Galarn with a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"Don't overdo it," Malcolm warned in a barely audible voice.

Keeping in character, she turned and scowled at Malcolm. "Tell Jon and you're a dead man," she said in Hadian, her venomous outburst loud enough for Galarn to hear across the room. Malcolm didn't react other than to glare at her, but whether it was because he was playing his role or was angry because he didn't understand what she had said, she didn't know.

The woman Hoshi had talked to came out of the kitchen with a stack of carry-out containers. Brushing past Galarn, she made her way to their table.

"How much is this?" Hoshi asked. After being given a price, she counted out some of the currency and handed it to the woman, telling her not to bother making change.

The food paid for, Hoshi got up and strutted to the front door, leaving Malcolm to pick up the containers and follow.

"What was that about?" Malcolm said angrily as he caught up with Hoshi outside the restaurant.

"Shhh," she hissed, aware of the Hadians walking past them. She took off at a fast walk, Malcolm again a step behind her.

The hotel lobby was deserted, not even the desk clerk in sight. Hoshi all but ran for the stairwell and began climbing quickly, intent on reaching the relative safety of their rooms. Malcolm grabbed her arm when they reached the first landing, halting her headlong rush.

"What the hell was that back in the restaurant?" he demanded.

Hoshi shuddered and closed her eyes, recalling the look of satisfaction on Galarn's face as she had sipped the beverage he had sent to their table.

Malcolm released her arm. "Hoshi, what's wrong?" he asked gently.

"It's this whole mission," she said. "I'm so unlike the part I'm playing. Every time I see that little creep, I want to throw up, but we need to keep on his good side."

Leaning back against the wall, she shook her head and laughed, but there was no humor in it. "The Hadians don't think very highly of their women, at least of their intellectual capabilities. It's ironic because, since I'm the only one who can speak fluent Hadian, I'm in the position of making spur-of-the-moment decisions for us."

"You're doing a good job," he said.

"But that's not all," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "If there's a chance for me to be alone with Poltorn, the captain wants me to take it. I might be able to get information that he wouldn't divulge in front of you or Trip or the captain, simply because he'll see me as a typical 'dumb' Hadian woman. And in keeping with what my character is supposed to be like, flirting with men like Galarn isn't out of line."

"The captain actually told you to flirt?"

"No," she said, "but when we were in the restaurant, it seemed like the best thing to do. After all, we're supposed to be making a deal with Galarn's boss. There's no reason not to be...friendly," she finished, drawing a shaky breath.

Malcolm put a hand on her shoulder. "Hoshi, you know we won't let you get hurt."

Bolstered by his reassurance, she took a deep breath to calm herself. She could almost feel her gangster moll facade fall back into place. Calmly reaching up, she removed Malcolm's hand from her shoulder. "By the way, back in the restaurant after you caught me smiling at Galarn, I said I'd kill you if you told Jon."

With a twitch of her hips, she turned and resumed climbing the stairs, leaving a thoroughly bemused armory officer holding a stack of carry-out containers staring after her.


	4. Chapter 4

Nervous butterflies came to roost in Hoshi's stomach after dinner. She knew it wasn't caused by the Hadian equivalent of pasta they had eaten because she hadn't been able to eat very much.

Knowing that she was going to be in Galarn's proximity again was fueling her apprehension. She kept telling herself that Jon, Trip, and Malcolm would be with her, and they wouldn't let anything happen, but she couldn't quell her nervousness. In a strange sort of way, she was actually looking forward to meeting Poltorn -- surely he had to be better than his henchman. There was something about Galarn that touched a subliminal nerve and made her want to run away screaming.

Jon didn't want to arrive at The One Spot too early and thereby appear eager. It was a notion of which Hoshi heartily approved, if only because it meant putting off the inevitable for a short time.

She used the extra time to read the newspaper, trying to occupy her mind. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary in it, but several advertisements caught her eye. She looked with interest at the claims for "nearly scar-free surgery." Two ads even touted toe removal as the "latest in body alteration style."

Hoshi couldn't help but think there was something fundamentally wrong with people who considered it stylish to remove parts of their bodies. Maybe it was a passing fad, like piercing had been on Earth.

When they did finally leave the hotel, the darkness outside was broken only by the occasional light from a store window. Hoshi hugged her thin shawl closer, knowing she wasn't shivering from lack of warmth but from her anticipation of what they would be up against at The One Spot. The feeling that they were being watched from the shadows didn't help, either.

She recalled that gangs on Earth sometimes "owned" whole neighborhoods. That's probably why Galarn had been in the restaurant, she reasoned. He'd been checking on one of Poltorn's business interests.

The alternative, that Galarn had been tailing them, was much less appealing.

She held her clutch purse tightly in one hand, finding comfort in the extra weight that had been added to it. After they had talked in the stairwell, Malcolm had arranged for another miniature phase pistol to be transported down, and it was now nestled in a bed of Hadian paper money in her purse.

If anyone looked at it, they probably wouldn't even know it was a weapon. Malcolm had designed the casing of the mini pistol so that it was oblong, with a pad instead of a handle on one end for a grip. About the size of a deck of playing cards, it had a hidden switch so that it couldn't be fired accidentally.

There had been only enough time to make one such pistol before they left on the mission and, being the security officer, Malcolm had it in his possession. After they left Enterprise, his armory staff had made the one he had beamed down for Hoshi. Even if his staff made more, the landing party would be limited to the two they now had, as the tiny cells that powered the pistols didn't take well to transport. The only reason hers would work was because Malcolm had brought along an extra power cell for his.

The One Spot's entrance was outlined by the glow of a feeble lamp. Jon nodded to Hoshi when they arrived, and she approached the door and knocked sharply.

As it had that afternoon, the slide panel was pushed roughly to one side and a pair of eyes stared out at her. "Yeah?"

"We're here to see Poltorn. We were told we could see him tonight."

The eyes regarded her for a moment before shifting to look at the men. Again in a repeat of that afternoon, the panel slammed shut and the door was unlocked.

This time, however, the sight inside was much different. Many of the tables were occupied by Hadians, and waiters were busy taking orders and delivering drinks. The overlapping hum of many conversations filled the room.

The man who'd opened the door closed it behind them and, with an inclination of his head, led them to a table to one side of the stage. They had to cross the entire room to get to it, and Hoshi saw more than one patron eye their group.

After they were seated, Jon leaned closer to her. "Try to keep in character," he whispered.

Hoshi stared at him. She knew what she was supposed to do. It wasn't like he had to remind her.

Hoshi felt her control start to slip, but in a reckless direction. Keep in character? OK, if that's what "the boss" wanted. She rolled her eyes at him and leaned back in her chair. "Keep your pants on, lover," she said in Hadian as she lifted one hand languidly and slowly caressed his cheek.

She figured there was only a fifty-percent chance he understood what she had said, but he caught on quickly. After a moment, a smile spread slowly across his face and he took her hand from his cheek, kissing her fingertips.

She saw Trip's eyes bug out, and she could swear Malcolm was trying not to laugh. That wouldn't do, either. Turning to Malcolm, she snapped haughtily, "Keep your eyes to yourself!"

Malcolm didn't comprehend her words, but as she glared at him with her best "I'm the boss' girlfriend" expression, she saw he understood the tone. His face immediately became an impassive mask and he looked away to scan the crowd.

If it wasn't for the mission, Hoshi would be enjoying herself. She realized that, as long as she could control the situation, she could handle herself and those around her. Not to mention the kick she got out of smarting off to her superiors -- for the sake of the mission, of course.

She'd no sooner had this epiphany than a waiter bearing drinks arrived at their table. With a slight quiver of apprehension threatening her new-found composure, she saw that while three of the glasses were filled with ice and some sort of alcohol, the fourth was different. It looked just like the drink Galarn had sent to her in the restaurant.

What the hell, she thought in her new frame of mind. She had only gotten to take a sip of the drink at the restaurant, and it had tasted pretty good. This time she was going to enjoy it. Reaching out to take the frosted glass, she saw Jon give her a quizzical look.

"It's from my admirer," she whispered in his ear, indicating Galarn across the room at the bar.

She could almost see Jon's thoughts as he turned his attention to Galarn, staring at the little man. Hoshi smiled sweetly, savoring the first taste of the drink. She hadn't felt this empowered in a long time.

Hoshi played her part to the hilt. She quickly finished her drink. Catching Galarn's eye, she held up her glass to show it was empty.

Galarn turned around and waved the bartender over. Shortly, another of the fruity beverages arrived at their table.

Jon turned his glare on her. He put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. "Do you think that's wise?" he asked in her ear.

"The drink or the flirting?" she asked softly.

"Both."

"Just keeping in character. Sir."

"Be careful."

It was more than thirty minutes later when Galarn came over to their table. He'd been standing at the bar the entire time, watching the crowd. A bulge in his jacket near his chest was probably a weapon. She didn't think he had been carrying a gun when they'd first met him, but she was more focused now, noticing details.

"Poltorn wanted me to make sure you enjoy yourself," he said to Jon without preamble. "Did you like the drinks?"

"Yes, he did," Hoshi replied, slipping her hand in Jon's and giving it a slight squeeze. "Didn't you, dear?"

Heeding her signal, Jon nodded once at Galarn.

"Apparently one of you didn't like it," Galarn said, looking pointedly at Malcolm's untouched glass.

"He's a mean drunk, so Jon doesn't allow him to drink in public," Hoshi said.

"Pity. It's the best stuff in town. Your drink, though... I picked it out because it's exotic, like you."

Trying to steer the conversation in a productive direction while deliberately ignoring the lecherous look on Galarn's coarse features, Hoshi asked, "Why are we still waiting to see Poltorn?"

"He's tied up. Let's blow this joint and I'll take you to him," he said. "I think he's about ready to meet all of you. Especially you, sweetheart."

Instead of being repulsed by the endearment, she was irritated. The man was starting to annoy her, and she hoped she got the chance to squash him like a bug. That image allowed her to smile at him as she stood, unobtrusively signaling the others to get up.

They followed Galarn to the door by the stage. He led them through a storage room filled with crates of bottles, then out into an alley. A long passenger vehicle with its motor running was parked there.

When Hoshi looked at him, Galarn said, "Poltorn's not here. I'm taking you to him."

Jon came up close behind her and put a hand on her arm.

"Excuse me," she said. "Jon wants to talk to me."

Hoshi and Jon moved far enough to one side that they couldn't be overheard.

"What's going on?" Jon whispered, and to Hoshi it almost sounded like he couldn't catch his breath.

"He's taking us to Poltorn."

"I don't like this," Jon said, rubbing a hand across his face.

"I don't, either, but he's our only link to the pilot. Do we have a choice?"

Jon considered for a moment, then gestured for her to return to the small knot of men by the vehicle. Trip and Malcolm had remained there during her brief conversation with Jon, and while the armory officer was alert as usual, Hoshi noticed that Trip seemed distracted. He was shifting from foot to foot, and kept rubbing the back of his neck.

Galarn politely held the door as Hoshi got in, followed by Jon and the others. The door shut and Galarn rounded the vehicle to get in the front passenger seat. A glass partition separated the front of the vehicle from the two rear seats where the Enterprise contingent was seated.

Galarn slid the glass partition open and said almost apologetically to Hoshi, "I really didn't want to do this, sweetness, but your sober friend left me no choice."

With that, he quickly shut the glass panel and she heard a click as a latch engaged. Looking to Jon for a cue as to how to react, she saw him slump back against the seat, his eyes closed. Trip had already succumbed, his head resting against a side window.

A fine vapor began to fill the compartment.

"There aren't any door handles!" Malcom said. He pounded on the door closest to him, but it didn't give.

The gas made Hoshi cough, and she tried to hold her breath as she ran her hands over the glass panel, searching frantically for some way to open it. The last thing she saw was Galarn smiling at her as she lost consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

The first coherent thought Hoshi put together when she regained consciousness was that Earth gangsters hadn't used knockout gas. Mickey finns in drinks, such as what had probably incapacitated the captain and Trip, yes, but not gas.

Hoshi hadn't felt any effects from her two drinks. She was fine until she had been knocked out by the vapor. Thinking back, she had the impression Galarn hadn't wanted her unconscious. Rather, he had wanted Malcolm, her "sober friend," out of commission.

Maybe Galarn didn't think she was a threat. If that was the case, it would be in keeping with the way Hadian men viewed their women.

Her head throbbed as she sat up, and she closed her eyes reflexively. She needed to figure out where she was and where the rest of her gang was.

Her gang? That was a heck of a way to think of her fellow officers, all of whom were her superiors. She was becoming so involved in her role that she was actually starting to think as a gangster. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing -- she could use every advantage she could get.

Opening her eyes a fraction, she saw that she was on a couch -- a rather decrepit couch with several dark-colored stains. Not trusting her legs to hold her, she remained seated as she peered through narrowed eyes around the room.

There was a beat-up wooden desk with a swivel chair over to one side. A couple of filing cabinets were against the far wall, next to the only door, which was closed. The glare from a single naked light bulb made everything stand out in stark relief, including the layer of dust that covered the furniture.

Behind the desk and chair was a window, and from where she sat, she could see iron bars on the other side. She noted that it was still dark outside. Perhaps she hadn't been out too long.

Drawing a deep breath, she got to her feet, feeling wobbly. Something else felt wrong, and she looked down to see her feet were bare. Her shoes were on the floor, tucked under the edge of the couch.

Hoshi's skin crawled. Had Galarn removed her shoes? She wouldn't put it past him to have fondled her feet -- or other parts of her -- while she was unconscious. He seemed like that kind of man.

She grabbed her shawl from where it was draped carelessly across the arm of the couch, and from underneath it her purse tumbled to the floor. Pulling the shawl around her gave her the illusion of covering up, which made her feel better. She would have put her shoes back on but she was still groggy. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to keep her balance on the heels if she did.

She retrieved her purse. Judging by its weight, the mini phase pistol was still inside. Either Galarn hadn't checked her purse or he didn't know what the pistol was and had left it alone.

As the pain in her head began to dull, she became aware of other discomforts. For one thing, her mouth felt as if it was lined with sand. The least Galarn could have done was left some water for her, she thought sourly.

It was in this disgruntled mood that she heard a key turn in the door's lock. Scowling, she faced Galarn as he stepped into the room.

"Where am I? What have you done with Jon?" she asked belligerently.

"Now, now, sweetie. No need to be so upset."

"Upset?" she yelled, advancing toward him. "You haven't seen me upset, you slimeball!"

He took a step backward as she continued her tirade. "If you've done anything to Jon, I'll--"

"You'll what?"

She forced out a rude laugh. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, you little rat."

Oh-oh! She might have pushed him too far with that last epithet. She saw a dangerous glint come into his eyes as he came toward her. Trying her best to stay in character and resist the urge to flatten him with one of the moves Malcolm had taught her, she retreated until the backs of her legs hit the couch, causing her to sit abruptly.

"Don't ever call me 'little,'" he said in a quiet voice as he stood over her. "If me and you are to get along, doll, that's one rule you better remember."

Hoshi watched warily as he walked to the desk and sat on its edge. It was a bit of a stretch; his toes barely touched the floor. Some perverse trick of her mind kept repeating the word "little" over and over in her head.

He stared at her, and when his gaze traveled down her body to her feet, she reached for her shoes.

"Now don't do that," he said. "It's very attractive what you've done to them."

She slipped the shoes on anyway. When he didn't stop her, she felt she had won a "little" battle. Stop it! she told herself. She had to match wits with this pervert and find the captain, Trip, and Malcolm.

Exhaling loudly, she leaned back on the couch and crossed her legs, making sure an ample portion of thigh was visible. She put her purse on her lap, keeping the pistol close at hand.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" she asked in a pretty huff. "Jon always tells me what to do. He's not here now, and I'm...confused."

"I think you're smarter than you let on," he said. "Sure, you do all the talking for your boss, but I'm not so sure you don't call the shots."

"What do you want from me?" she asked, neither confirming nor denying his statement.

"I want to know all about this new surgery that doesn't leave scars. I want to know who the doctor is, I want to know where it's done, and I want to know why a boss has to track down a guinea pig. That's what hired guns are for."

"I'm not telling you anything until I know Jon's all right."

Galarn smiled. "I was expecting you to say that. Good thing you put on your shoes."

He pushed himself off the desk. Going to the door and opening it, he gestured for her to get up. "Don't even think about running, sweetheart."

"As if I could in these shoes," she muttered, her mind adding "little man" as she swept past him.

The brisk walk down the hall helped clear her head. They entered a stairwell at the end of the corridor and, as she climbed, she felt Galarn's eyes on her back. She was looking forward to shooting him. Much as she wanted to whip out her pistol, stun him and watch him drop like a sack of potatoes, she needed to find the others first.

She was relieved Galarn had agreed so readily to her demand. It was much easier to allow Galarn to take her to Jon than to try to find the others on her own. For that reason alone, it was best not to fight Galarn. Not yet.

At the top of the stairs, he led her down another long hall to a door guarded by an armed thug.

"They giving you any problems?" Galarn asked the man, who was rough looking despite the snazzy suit he wore.

"Nah. Two of 'em are still sleeping like babies."

Galarn opened the door and allowed Hoshi to enter first. The room was large but bare except for the three officers, each tied to a straight-backed chair. Their hats were scattered on the floor near them.

Jon and Trip were unconscious. Malcolm was awake, and even in the poor lighting, she could see a large bruise on the side of his face and a trickle of blood on his chin.

After a moment of stunned surprise, Hoshi gave herself a mental kick. She had to act like Jon's moll. She had to ignore Malcolm's injuries, just as if he were a real hired thug and of no importance to her.

She forced a cry from her lips and rushed to Jon's side. Kneeling down, she held his head between her hands. "Jon! Jon! Wake up!"

When he didn't respond, she rose and spun around to face a smirking Galarn, who had remained standing by the door.

"What have you done to him?" she asked.

"I haven't done anything," he said. "He's still sleeping off the mickey finn."

"He'll be OK, won't he?" she asked, putting a touch of uncertainty in her voice.

"Yeah, he'll be OK. But only if you help me out."

Hoshi swallowed. She was going along with Galarn for now, but maybe she could get some concessions.

"I'll tell you everything I know, but let me help Jon first."

"Not until you spill the beans," he countered.

"I'm not saying anything until I know Jon will be OK," she said, stomping her foot as she slapped her purse against her leg.

Galarn looked at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"You are one fiesty dame," he said. "I like that."

Sauntering over to her, he put a hand out as if to caress her arm. This time Hoshi made no effort to hold back her shudder. She closed her eyes, bracing herself.

After a long moment passed and he still hadn't touched her, she cautiously opened her eyes. He was looking at her, his eyes hooded.

"Tell you what," he said. "I'll leave you alone with him for a while. You see what you can do to bring him around. I may want him awake when I talk to you."

Galarn left, closing the door behind him. Hoshi hoped he could hear the string of Hadian curses she shouted after him. Out of sheer frustration she stomped her foot again, raising a small cloud of dust.

She went to untie Malcolm first. "What did they do to you?" she asked as she fumbled with the knots holding his arms behind his back.

"What's it look like?" he answered in a raspy voice.

"Don't be a smart ass," she said. "Let me rephrase. Why did they do this to you?"

"I took it upon myself to learn certain Hadian phrases that you didn't teach us, you being a nice girl."

At his last words, she gave the rope a sharp tug.

"Ow!" Malcolm yelped as the rope bit into the raw scrapes on his wrists. "You're really getting into this gangster stuff, aren't you?"

"More than you'll ever know," she muttered as the knot came undone.

Rubbing his arms to restore circulation, he eyed her as she came around to work on the ropes holding his legs to the chair. "One of them didn't like some of the phrases I practiced on him."

"You'll have to tell me those phrases later," she said, a small smile curving her lips as she undid the knots.

"Are you OK?" he asked when he was free of the bindings and could stand.

She made a noncommittal murmur, and moved over to free Jon while Malcolm started loosening the ties that held Trip. As she worked, Hoshi puzzled over something that had been bothering her since they had left The One Spot the first time.

"I wonder where Poltorn is," she said. "So far Galarn's been doing everything. He even talks like he's in charge."

She looked over to see Malcolm frowning at her.

"We won't be meeting Poltorn," the armory officer said. He jerked his head toward the shadows in a corner. "He's over there. Dead."


	6. Chapter 6

Poltorn was dead. Hoshi didn't know why she was surprised. She herself had said that Galarn was acting as if he was in charge. Now Galarn's actions and words made a lot more sense.

She considered what this would mean to their mission as she tried to untie Jon. His body had sagged forward and the ropes holding him to the chair were taut, making it hard to loosen the knots.

"Did Galarn kill Poltorn?" she asked Malcolm as she picked at one of the knots binding Jon's legs.

"One of the others did, but Galarn gave the order. That much I could follow. I don't know why he wanted Poltorn dead, but he's definitely the one in charge now," he replied. Having freed Trip, he lowered the larger man to the floor.

"We'll just have to keep dealing with Galarn, then," she said. "I can't help but wonder if our search for Williams has something to do with Galarn bumping off Poltorn."

"It could have been something Galarn was already planning and we just got caught in the middle," Malcolm said, coming to help with Jon. Hoshi braced the captain to keep him from tumbling off the chair as the ropes fell away, then helped ease him to the floor.

"They're breathing normally and their pulse rates seem OK, so I don't think anything's wrong with them other than being drugged," Malcolm said, sitting back on his heels next to Jon. "My first aid training dealt more with injuries, so I can't be certain, though."

Hoshi blew out a breath. Look on the bright side, she told herself. She had found her crewmates, and they didn't appear to be too much the worse for wear.

Poltorn's death, however, meant she would have to keep interacting with Galarn, much as he repulsed her. Galarn was interested in her, and she could use herself as a bargaining chip if she had to. That wasn't the way she wanted to play it, but --

"Do you still have your phase pistol?" Malcolm asked, interrupting her train of thought.

"Yes." Opening her purse, she pulled out the undersized gun.

"They let you keep it?"

"Apparently," she said as she put it back in the purse. "Maybe they don't expect women to carry weapons around in their purses and they didn't think to look in it. Or maybe they didn't know what it was, since it doesn't look like a gun. Or," she added, her voice dripping with contempt, "maybe Galarn wanted to make me feel better by letting me have something to defend my honor with."

Malcolm glanced sharply at her, but any comment he might have made was cut off by a moan from Trip.

Hoshi hurried to kneel by Trip's side. "It's OK. We're here," she said, brushing the hair back from his forehead.

"Would somebody please tell the elephants tap dancin' in my head to go away," Trip mumbled, not opening his eyes.

Hoshi smiled at his familiar drawl. Two of her three companions were back among the living.

Malcolm helped Trip to a sitting position. As the engineer's eyes opened a crack, he saw Jon lying a few feet away. "Is the captain OK?"

"I think so," Malcolm said. "He either drank more than you or it's affecting him more."

"It's probably because I've had more practice drinkin' and I can handle it better," Trip said. He started to laugh, but immediately stopped and held his head. "Damn, that hurts."

"Do you want to get on the chair?" Hoshi asked.

"Not yet. I think my equilibrium's kinda low to the ground right now. ... Where are we?"

"Some type of warehouse," Hoshi said. "From what I've seen, I don't think it's being used for anything."

Hoshi and Malcolm recounted what had happened to each of them. Trip shot a glance at the body in the shadows when Malcolm told him about Poltorn's demise. Malcolm went into more detail than he had with Hoshi, and she grimaced at the description of the vicious beating Poltorn had taken before he was shot between the eyes.

"I got the impression it could happen to us, too," Malcolm said as he finished. "Galarn said something about 'tightening the bolts.'"

"Screws," Hoshi corrected him

"No, it was definitely 'bolts.'"

"Probably a variation in Hadian," Hoshi said, intrigued by the differences in the languages despite their situation. "It's unrealistic to assume they use the exact phrases as we did on Earth."

Trip broke into their conversation. "This is all very interestin', but we need to figure out how to get out of here."

The men checked their pockets as well as Jon's. The communicators Trip and Jon had been carrying were gone, as was Malcolm's mini phase pistol. They had brought a minimum of equipment -- the less they carried, the less they would have to explain or retrieve if those items were discovered. Hoshi guessed from Malcolm's disgusted expression that he was probably remembering the time he had lost his communicator and the resulting mess that occurred when they'd tried to get it back.

Only the items in Hoshi's purse were undisturbed -- her pistol, the data padd, and a wad of currency. Too bad there hadn't been room for a communicator, she thought. Now there was no way to contact the ship, and T'Pol wasn't expecting them to check in until morning.

Malcolm declined Hoshi's offer to take her pistol. He explained that the pistol's small size meant a correspondingly small power cell, and it was only good for three or four shots.

"We shouldn't use it until it's absolutely necessary," he said. "Until then, it's safer in your purse."

Hoshi went to check on Jon as Malcolm got up and walked around the perimeter of the large room. The far corners were indistinct in the weak illumination, but there was enough light for her to see him skirt Poltorn's body. He paused at each of the two windows before completing the circuit, then peered up into the darkness.

"I don't think there's any way out through the ceiling," he said, going over to where Trip was sitting on the floor. "And the windows are barred and boarded up."

"There's got to be some way out of here," Trip said, cradling his head in his hands.

Hoshi felt a rush of sympathy for Trip, knowing exactly how weak and disoriented he must be feeling. It was the way she'd felt when she'd come around.

She cleared her throat. "Not that I don't want to get out of here, but we really can't do anything until the captain wakes up. And if we leave, we'll be back where we started. We still don't know where Williams is."

Trip groaned as he massaged his forehead. "You're right. You got any ideas about what to do?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

* * *

Jon was awake when the door was thrown open and Galarn, trailed by two armed men, swaggered into the room. 

Hoshi put her arm protectively around Jon as Galarn sneered at the group -- she and Jon sitting on the floor, Malcolm standing a few paces behind them, and Trip seated in one of the chairs.

"Well, sweetheart," the gang boss said. "I see Jon's back with us."

"Don't call me sweetheart," she said, matching his sneer with one of her own.

"Come here."

When she didn't move, he motioned to one of his men, who lifted his handgun and pointed it at Jon. Hoshi didn't have to act -- her gasp was genuine. Jon shrugged her arm off his shoulders and gently pushed her away. At his nod, she slowly got to her feet.

"That's right," Galarn said. "You might not like it, but your boss knows what's good for you -- and him. Now come here, or Slartin will do more than point his gun."

She knew Galarn could use violence at any time to get what he wanted, but his threat to shoot Jon rattled her anyway. Gritting her teeth and clutching her shawl around her like a shield, Hoshi walked toward him. His imperious command, however, had made her angry -- no one ordered her around like a dog.

She knew reckless anger could get her or the others hurt, and so she tamped it down until it only smoldered, waiting to burst into flame if she needed it.

"Now what?" she asked, stopping a few feet from Galarn.

"Now you tell me what I want to know."

"It would be easier to explain if I could show you the results."

Galarn glanced expectantly at her feet.

"Oh, no! You're not getting near my feet," she said. "Where's the rube that Jon did surgery on?"

With a look of satisfaction, Galarn pounced on her slip-up. "Jon's the doctor, is he?"

Hoshi bit her lip as if dismayed. "Yes," she answered.

"Now I know why you're so fond of the big lug. What woman wouldn't like a man who can make her look better?" At her offended expression, he added, "Not that there's anything wrong with the way you look, sweetie. It's hard to improve on perfection."

Hoshi pasted a smug smile on her face as if mollified by his backhanded compliment. "Yes, well. Now, are you going to take me to see that guy or what?"

Galarn didn't say anything. Instead he walked out of the room, gesturing for Hoshi to follow him. The two armed men remained behind, watching her fellow officers from a safe distance.

In the corridor, Galarn tried to take her arm, but she jerked away. His stern stare drilled into her.

"I've been letting you get away with things I wouldn't put up with in another dame," he said. "That's because I like you. But I'm warning you -- I better see a change in your attitude soon, or your boyfriend's going to pay."

Hoshi knew it wasn't an idle threat. Poltorn's body was proof of that. She cast a last look at her friends through the open doorway before following Galarn down the hall.

At the opposite end of the hall, Galarn produced a key from one of his pockets and unlocked a door. It creaked open, revealing a small room with only a cot and a straight-backed chair. Lying on the cot was a man of medium stature, a bloody bandage wrapped around his head with wisps of matted hair sticking out. He wore a tattered, dirty jumpsuit. His feet were bare.

"What did you do to him?" Hoshi asked accusingly.

"Didn't do anything to him but put that bandage on," Galarn said. "He had a nasty cut on his head when we found him."

At the sound of voices, the man on the bed struggled to sit up. "Who are you?" he asked weakly in English.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Hoshi replied in the same language. "Trust me."

"Hey!" Galarn said. "You know his gibberish?"

"I told you. It's the code our gang uses," she said matter-of-factly as she sat by Williams on the cot.

Switching back to English, she spoke as quickly as she could. "I'm a Starfleet officer here to get you off this planet. Go along when I start examining you. They think you've had surgery to--"

"Stop that!" Galarn was glowering at them. "I want to know what you're talking about."

"He must have hit his head," Hoshi said, running her hands over Williams' head. "He doesn't remember how to speak normally."

"That's convenient," Galarn said suspiciously.

"I don't understand what's going on," Williams whimpered.

"Shut up!" Hoshi ordered harshly in English. She was gratified that, so far, she hadn't confused which language to use at what time. It would be just her luck to say something in one when she meant to use the other and, in the process, really let something slip.

She looked over at the gangster. "Jon's got a lot invested in this guy. He'll be happy to see him."

"Yeah, I'm sure he will. Now spill it."

She didn't know much about surgical procedures, but she was willing to bet Galarn didn't, either. She'd just have to make something up -- the more confusing, the better. Grasping one of Williams' hands, she held it out where Galarn could see it.

"This is the most recent innovation," she said in her school teacher voice. "Jon's come up with a way to remove finger webs without leaving scars. The patient has to be knocked out during the procedure, because it can be painful, not to mention the psychological ramifications of seeing a part of yourself excised, a part that is, by the very nature of its location, able to be viewed by anyone and therefore subject to criticism and ridicule.

She glanced up to see Galarn listening intently to the bull she was feeding him. So far, so good.

"As you can see, there are no scars," she said, pointing to the bases of Williams' fingers. "That's due to tools Jon has developed. He's found that certain wavelengths, when decompressed from the oscillating luminescence that makes up electromagnetic radiation and then refocused retroactively and in an obfuscating manner, can be harnessed to create an infinitesimally miniscule beam that has incredibly powerful properties. So while the ocular organ in its unembellished state cannot register any defensive fibrous tissue growth, they are in actuality there."

She patted Williams' hand and gave Galarn a pleased look.

Galarn looked anything but pleased. "I didn't understand half of what you said," he said.

"What didn't you understand?" she asked in her best dumb gangster moll imitation.

Galarn huffed. "I thought you were going to show me!"

"I did," she said. "I showed you his hand. And you can see his feet, too."

"That's not what I meant!" he cried in frustration. "I meant how it's done, and explained so I understand it."

"Jon will have to do that. I've just memorized that speech for prospective customers since, with Jon's speech problem, it would take him forever to get through all that." In a conspiratorial tone she added, "I don't understand it either. I'm just glad I can pronounce all those big words."

Galarn struggled to control himself. His hands were clenched and his lips were compressed to a narrow line. He took a step toward her, and she flinched, leaning away from him.

"Get up!" he yelled, adding, "Not him!" when Hoshi hauled Williams to his feet.

"But Jon needs him to show you how he does his surgery," Hoshi protested. "I'm not ready to have any more surgery, especially not in this filthy place, and not without an anesthetic."

She had used the right tack, she saw. The prospect of finding out how the surgery was done was too enticing for Galarn to pass up. He hustled them out of the room and back down the corridor.


	7. Chapter 7

When she and Williams were brought back to the others, Hoshi flung herself at Jon. Malcolm and Trip, standing a few paces behind the captain, watched Galarn as he observed Jon and Hoshi's reunion.

"Jon! They want to see how you do surgery," Hoshi said between the kisses she was pelting him with. In her zeal, her purse slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor.

"That's enough!" Galarn shouted. Pointing at Jon, he said, "The dame says you can do the surgery here. That right?"

Hoshi squeezed Jon's arm once. "Yessss," he said, drawing out the sound.

"Show me. I'm tired of getting the run-around."

Jon looked at Hoshi. In English, she said, "Time for the demonstra--"

"Hey, none of that!" Galarn said, shaking his finger at them.

"I nee...I need...my kni...knife," Jon said in Hadian, stuttering on purpose, just as Hoshi had coached him after he'd recovered from being drugged.

"Knife? What knife?"

Jon acted as if he was about to answer, then blew out a frustrated breath and looked at Hoshi.

"His knife. You know, his scalpel," she said, speaking to Galarn as if he were a child. "It doesn't look like an ordinary knife. It's silver and shiny and kind of flat. There's a bit on one end that's black, and it has buttons on it."

One of Galarn's thugs, Slartin, stepped forward. "He didn't have anything like that on him, boss. That one did, though," he said, pointing at Malcolm.

"Get it!" Galarn said, snapping his fingers at Slartin, who left at a trot.

There was an uneasy silence broken only by an occasional whimper from Williams, who had crumpled to the floor after being pushed into the room. The two groups -- gangsters and pseudo gangsters -- stared at each other until Slartin returned, Malcolm's mini phase pistol and the communicators in his hands.

"This must be the knife," Galarn said as he took the pistol from Slartin. "Where's the blade?"

"It doesn't have one," Hoshi said. "It uses light."

"I'll believe it when I see it," the gangster muttered. Taking one of the communicators from Slartin, he asked, "What's this?"

"I'm not sure," Hoshi replied sheepishly. "I think they're for taking notes -- some kind of recording thing."

Galarn glanced at her, and she lowered her gaze to cover her lie. Looking at him from under her lashes, she saw from his condescending expression that he had taken the falsehood in an entirely different way.

"That's OK, doll," he said generously as he examined the communicator. "Apparently I was wrong about you. You aren't the brains of this group after all. You're like all dames -- you only know how to talk a lot."

"Hey, there's no reason to be rude," she said, hugging Jon's arm.

Galarn handed the communicator back to Slartin. Holding out the pistol, he said, "Come get this and give it to your boyfriend."

As Hoshi let go of Jon's arm, Galarn added, "Oh, yeah. And no funny stuff, or else."

On that note, his two henchmen raised their weapons.

* * *

A long table was brought into the room by another of Galarn's men. That meant four of the gang were now present. The odds were getting worse. 

With a gesture from Galarn and a few words from Hoshi, Williams was told to lie on the table, but he balked. She had wondered how they'd get Williams to cooperate, but as his agitation grew into hysteria, Slartin hit him on the back of the head with his gun. An extreme solution, but it worked.

"You two, pick him up," Slartin ordered Trip and Malcolm, motioning with his gun.

Hoshi held her breath, worried they might not understand, but Slartin's gesture was apparently enough for her fellow officers to know what to do. They picked up the unconscious pilot and heaved him onto the table, then backed away when Slartin waved his gun at them.

Jon approached the table, the phase pistol in his hand. "Start opening his jumpsuit and then distract them," he said to Hoshi in English.

"What'd he say?" Galarn asked.

"He wants me to get his clothes out of the way," she replied. First she took off her shawl, which would only get in the way if she had to move quickly. Besides, she wasn't above using her feminine charms to distract Galarn and his men. After tossing the shawl on one of the chairs, she began to unzip Williams' jumpsuit.

"What's he going to operate on?" Galarn asked.

Hoshi took a breath. She tried to look slightly embarrassed, which wasn't too hard since she now had the pilot unzipped all the way. She eased one of his arms out of the jumpsuit as she started talking.

"He's already had his finger webs removed, and the small toe on each foot taken off, so that pretty much leaves..." She stared pointedly at Williams' briefs which were now visible, and heard one of Galarn's thugs suck in his breath.

Risking a glance at Jon, she saw he was peering nearsightedly at the mini phase pistol, adjusting the button to unlock the weapon. His apparent preoccupation was a ruse, she knew. She hoped Malcolm and Trip were ready.

"You're not...you're not going to..." Galarn began.

"Well, everything else has been cut off. What did you expect?" she asked.

By now, she had the attention of all four gangsters. They were staring at her in disbelief, and she had the impression the surgery she was implying was a little too radical for them, even by Hadian standards.

"Not the whole thing!" she reassured them, trying to imitate Doctor Phlox's bedside manner. She gave them a huge grin. "Just a little bob job -- that's my idea for the advertising slogan, by the way. A couple of little cuts. No scars, remember? The best thing is nobody will be able to tell you've been under the knife."

Galarn looked pale, and Slartin was grimacing. One of the other men had his hand over his crotch as if protecting himself, and the last one's mouth dropped open. "Hey, boss?" he said. "I don't really need to see this, do I?"

Galarn shook his head without looking at the man, who hurriedly left the room.

The odds were tilting back in their favor, Hoshi thought. They needed to make their move before any more of Galarn's goons showed up. After freeing Williams' arms from the jumpsuit, she moved to the other end of the table, distancing herself from Jon so he had a clear shot. She began to tug on the legs of Williams' jumpsuit.

Galarn was still looking at her in disbelief. "Why would anyone want to have that done?"

"You know what they say: It's not the size that matters..." She shrugged as she worked the pant legs down.

The three gangsters were looking at her again, but Jon and Malcolm didn't seize the opportunity. What was with those guys? Why didn't they shoot? Surely Malcolm had gotten to the pistol in her purse by now.

"I can understand your reluctance," she said, yanking the jumpsuit free of Williams with enough force that she staggered back a step in Galarn's direction. Turning to face him as she wadded up the clothing, she wondered how long she could keep up this prattle. "After all, it's painful. Takes about three weeks to recover."

Her remarks elicited a groan from Slartin. As he closed his eyes in commiseration, twin bolts of energy shot across the room, hitting him and the other gunman.

Her attention on Galarn, Hoshi barely registered the two thugs falling to the floor. When the gang boss made a move for the gun inside his jacket, she threw the wadded-up jumpsuit in his face.

Galarn ducked as he brushed the suit away with one hand, and Malcolm's shot at him went high. Galarn reached out and grabbed Hoshi by the arm, holding his gun to her head.

"Stop right there or she gets it!"

Hoshi held perfectly still, her mind racing. The officers froze in place, understanding Galarn's intent, if not his words. She risked raising her hand, indicating they should remain where they were. She didn't dare try speaking to them in English. That might be enough to make Galarn shoot her or one of them.

Jon was still on the far side of the table, his "scalpel" aimed at Galarn. "Hoshi, don't do anything rash."

"Shut up!" Galarn ordered. "I don't want to hear any of that 'code' or I'll shoot her."

"What are you going to do with me?" Hoshi asked, an almost-real quaver in her voice.

"I'm going to take you with me, doll," he replied with a leer. "Things are too hot for me right now."

He backed toward the door, pulling her with him as he talked. "Only a few of Poltorn's men went along with me when I took over. I can't hang around waiting for the ones who didn't back me to show up." With a grim chuckle he added, "Maybe they'll think your friends took care of Poltorn."

They reached the door and he continued backing out, the gun jammed in her ribs as he dragged her along. On the journey down the corridor, Galarn kept her between him and the others, who were following warily at a distance. Jon was at the back of the group, the unconscious, nearly naked Williams slung over his shoulder.

She kept her eyes on Malcolm. If anyone made a move, it would be him. She wondered how much experience he had with hostage situations. To her surprise, he gave her a wink as Galarn was momentarily distracted by opening the door to the stairwell. Malcolm must have something in mind, she realized.

Going down the stairs was a nightmare. Galarn kept one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her as close to him as he could. She felt his hot breath on her neck as they sidestepped down the stairs. She was always between him and the other men, and the fact that she was taller than the gangster worked in his favor. She was an effective shield behind which to hide.

At the bottom, Galarn switched the gun to the hand that was holding her so he could open the door. Hoshi tensed, hoping Malcolm would shoot now that Galarn's gun wasn't aimed directly at her. When he didn't shoot, she wondered why. If she were in his place, she'd shoot both of them. Stunning her would be a small price to pay for a successful mission.

The strange procession made its way out into the corridor, Galarn and Hoshi moving faster now that they weren't climbing down stairs. He led her to another door and pulled her through. She saw Malcolm hurry to close some of the distance between them before the door slammed shut.

She and Galarn were outside, dawn just breaking. The cool air on her shoulders and arms made her shiver as he removed his arm from her waist only to grab her wrist. The vehicle in which they'd been gassed was parked at the curb across the deserted street, and Galarn tugged her in its direction.

They were about halfway across the street when she heard the door behind them open, and she glanced back. Malcolm was standing in the doorway, aiming a mini phase pistol at them.

"Duck!" he yelled.

She immediately dropped to the pavement, breaking Galarn's hold on her wrist, and a phaser blast flew over her. Galarn, who had turned as she pulled loose, was struck in the chest and went down.

Hoshi pushed herself up from the pavement, wincing when a scraped knee made itself known, as Malcolm and the others approached her at a trot.

"You all right, Hoshi?" Jon asked as he made his way by her with his burden to the vehicle.

"Yes, sir," she answered, adding an aside for Malcolm, "Took you long enough."

"Had to wait until we found the transportation," he said. Looking up and down the street for other possible dangers, he smiled slightly. "I didn't think you wanted to walk all the way back to the landing site."

She grunted, conceding his point. She slipped out of her shoes and sighed in relief as her bare feet made contact with the cool pavement.

Trip opened one of the vehicle's back doors and Jon flipped Williams off his shoulder onto one of the bench seats.

"Trip, can you drive this thing?" Jon asked he climbed in, his communicator already open.

"Give me a second," the engineer said as he slid into the driver's seat and studied the controls. "Doesn't look too complicated."

Hoshi also got in the back of the vehicle, and Malcolm sat in front with Trip. Jon contacted Enterprise, telling T'Pol to send the shuttlepod down to their original landing site. By the time he'd closed the communicator, Trip had gotten the engine started and was putting the vehicle in gear. They moved away from the curb with a small lurch.

"Do you know where you're going?" Hoshi asked Trip.

"Yeah, sure," he said, still distracted by the controls. "Hope there aren't any stop signs, though. I'm not sure where the brakes are."

"Well, you'd better get turned around, because we're going the wrong way," she said.

"No, we're not."

"Yes, we are."

It took Jon's intervention to get Trip to turn the vehicle around, Hoshi muttering about men who won't ask for directions under her breath.

As they finally rolled out of town, heading in the right direction, Hoshi began to relax. They were actually going to make it.

"Hey," said a groggy Williams. "What happened to my clothes?"

* * *

Hoshi looked at herself in the mirror. Once again she was decked out in her gangster moll regalia, her hair curled, her lips bright red to match her dress. 

Her only regret was that her red shawl had been left behind. The quartermaster had some lacy black material that she had been able to fashion into a shawl-like garment. Oh well, she thought, black went well with her red dress. Too bad she hadn't lost the shoes. It had been a week since their mission and her feet still hadn't quite recovered.

At least her hands looked normal. Phlox had removed the fake webs between the fingers the day they returned from the mission.

The captain had decided to celebrate, now that they had transferred Williams to a ship headed for Earth. She, Trip, and Malcolm had been invited to dine in the captain's mess, with one stipulation -- they were to dress as they had on Hadia. That meant she had to wear the red heels.

She smiled as she crossed the mess hall on her way to the captain's dining room. She had monitored Hadian communications for as long as possible after they left orbit, and had learned from news reports that Galarn had been arrested for the murder of Poltorn. His wild tale of guns firing beams of light and surgery without scars was not believed. With luck, Hoshi thought wickedly, the little man would spend the rest of his life in an institution.

Trip was standing just inside the captain's mess when she entered. He was dressed to the nines in his gangster suit, his hat jauntily askew on his head.

"Wow, Hoshi. You look even better with the black cover-up," he said, stepping aside for her to pass.

She batted her eyelashes at him, and was rewarded with his laugh.

"Don't you try that flirtin' on me, now. The way that gangster reacted, ya ought to be classified as a secret weapon," he said with a grin.

She sauntered over to the table. Malcolm, looking dapper in his suit, pulled out her chair. She batted her eyelashes at him, too.

"The captain said to wear our costumes for this gathering," he said with a smile. "He didn't say anything about role-playing."

As the two men took their seats, Malcolm added, "I wonder what's delaying the captain?"

"Speak of the devil," Trip said, and both men started to rise as Jon, also dressed in his gang outfit, entered.

"As you were," Jon said, motioning for them to stay seated. He took in Hoshi's appearance at the opposite end of the table. After a long moment, he said, "You look lovely, Hoshi."

Hoshi was willing to bet the captain wasn't thinking of her as a member of the crew at the moment. It wouldn't do to leave him standing, however.

"Please, take a seat, sir," she murmured.

"Um, yes, of course," Jon stuttered, a slight blush staining his face as he sat. He cleared his throat. "I've just received a message from Starfleet. You'll be happy to know that Admiral Forrest agrees the mission was a success, although he's a little concerned by the methods we used."

Trip snorted. "What's there to be concerned about? We got the pilot back, we recovered all the pieces of his ship, and those people have no clue we were from another planet."

Jon didn't answer as the steward entered with a bottle of champagne. Jon signaled for him to uncork it. When their glasses had been filled, Jon raised his. "I would like to toast the successful completion of one of the most unusual missions Enterprise has ever undertaken."

The other three raised their glasses, then sipped. If only all their missions could end like this, Hoshi thought, enjoying the bubbles in the champagne. She sighed blissfully as Trip rose to his feet.

"Here's to Hoshi's outfit," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Trip!" she admonished, but was overruled by the others' calls of "Hear, hear!"

Once more they all took a sip. After a moment, Malcolm cleared his throat. He slid his chair back and stood, holding his glass out as if it were a weapon. "Here's to Hoshi's tactical genius. If it weren't for her plan, we might still be tied up in that warehouse."

After the men drank to Malcolm's toast, Trip leaned toward Jon and said, "I've changed my mind. Next time, Hoshi can be the boss."

The praise and the alcohol were warming her, and before she knew it, she was on her feet.

"Ahem." She looked at each of the men in turn. Holding up her glass, she said, "If there ever is a next time, I would be more than willing to call the shots. Not that I pretty much didn't do that this time."

Trip snickered and Malcolm smirked. Jon opened his mouth, but a look from her silenced him.

"Just remember," she said, "when it comes to words, I've got you all outgunned."

They all drank to that.

--the end--

A/N: Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this story, let me know!


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